


I Have Teeth

by Anonymous



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Alucard is not doing good, Alucard needs a hug, Alucard vs the dolls, Alucard-centric, Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Introspection, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Alucard/Sumi/Taka, Post-Season/Series 03, Sadness, Why would Sypha and Trevor leave this poor depressed baby by himself???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26743675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "What will they think of the bodies that he staked outside the castle?He left them up. It was a deterrent, he told himself. It was what his father would’ve done, leaving out the bodies of those who dared turn against him as a sign for others to stay away. A sign; beware all ye who enter here. I have teeth."***Following the end of season 3, Alucard struggles to cope not only with what happened, but how he'll explain himself to Trevor and Sypha. Stuck by himself in the castle, the only people he has for company are the little dolls he made to resemble his friends.
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya & Trevor Belmont & Sypha Belnades
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49
Collections: Anonymous





	I Have Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this for everyone who watched season 3 and said ??? but why???  
> Not gonna lie, this is pretty sad, as an Alucard-centric story looking at the fallout of Season 3. If you feel that there are some tags or possible warnings you think I should add, please let me know!
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think!

What will Trevor and Sypha think?

( _you’re a monster_ )

What will they think of the bodies that he staked outside the castle? He can barely recollect doing it. Crying on his floor, naked and bloody, then a haze of hours as he went to the armory and found the stakes. Afterwards, he’d woken, curled into his wolf form under his childhood bed, weak and shaking from the crying and the vomiting. He felt as though he didn’t have a drop of liquid in his body, and he had dragged himself down to the stream where he held himself under the water for minutes at a time, hoping that somehow it might wash him away.

He walked past them without really noticing, but when he returned…

(monster, _monster_ —)

He left them up. It was a deterrent, he told himself. It was what his father would’ve done, leaving out the bodies of those who dared turn against him as a sign for others to stay away. A sign; _beware all ye who enter here. I have teeth. I have a flying fucking sword_. Really, he just didn’t think he could bare touching them, not a second time.

Every time he even thinks of glancing in their directions, it is all he can do not to remember the feel of their fingers on his skin, the scorch of silver, the hot spill of blood. It tastes different when it isn’t for drinking. And it has been… a long time since he had proper fresh blood. Since he felt the heat of a human so close that he could hear their very heartbeat, the soft swishing of fluid in little arteries and veins. And he had lain there for what felt like hours, trying to free himself of their bindings, listening to the last gurgles of blood in their lungs, the quieted pulsing, the very last thump of a muscle that would no longer move. Lain in the silence afterwards, nothing to accompany him but the ringing in his ears, the muffled knowledge that he was sobbing.

Why wouldn’t they _listen_? Why did they make him do it?

( _you’re part vampire. Surely, you didn’t have to kill them. You should’ve been able to incapacitate them. You just wanted to. Like father like son. Daddy’s sweet little tyrant, all grown up—)_

His entire body aches from the aftermath, throbs like a massive bruise. Muscle weakness, fatigue. Partly the recovery from the steel. Partly his own refusal to care for the corpse that is his body; he’s running himself to bits just so he doesn’t have to think about it, barely staying in his human form for more than an hour at a time. He hasn’t even really started healing. At his wrists, the visible skin is scarred a tender red. The marks still burn, encircling him like a snake under his clothes.

When he woke this morning, feeling the tightness in his chest, the tenderness of his body, the hollowness of his stomach, he thought that it really might be better if he left. If he walked away from this godforsaken fortress and the treasure trove of dead monsters underneath it. But he thought of Trevor and Sypha, so sincere, counting on him… he couldn’t do it. Not when they would already hate him for what he did.

Still, he thought that at least he might feel better if he went to a different part of the castle, somewhere that didn’t reek of blood and vomit and tears. He thought that this part of the house would be safe for him, a neutral place where he could relax. But now…

Alucard gives a strangled whimper, dropping his face into his hands. The little kitchen is stale and cold. For the days since he killed them, he hasn’t cooked, hasn’t eaten a single thing, has barely drunken more than he needs to replenish his tears. There are still dirty plates in the washtub, still leftover food. He can smell some of the milk just beginning to sour in the cold box. Compared to the stench of decay on his front step, it is barely anything, but his lip curls in disgust. The last time he was here, he was with two people he thought were his friends.

He’s alone again. He hurts, and he aches, and he’s so terribly, terribly _alone_.

When he looks back up, rubbing over his swollen eyes, little buttons glare at him from across the room. Little Trevor had fallen over sometime since Su—since _They_ showed up. But Little Sypha stares at him, her hands placed daintily in her little straw-stuffed lap. Judging everything, as usual.

“Quit looking at me like that,” he whispers. His own voice is so hoarse he hardly recognizes it. His throat aches with the strain. When was the last time he spoke? Was it when he pleaded for them not to do anything, not to make him hurt them?

_Why?_ her little yarn mouth seems to say. She sounds smug, as always. Like she already knows every word he’ll say and is just playing along with it. _Does it make you uncomfortable_?

“Yes. You’re looking at me like I’m a murderer.”

_Aren’t you?_

“No. No, I’m _not_ —”

(a _monster, a monster, a bloody fucking monster_ )

A piece of her yarn hair shifts gently in the draft from the open door. _You look guilty, Adrian_.

“Don’t call me that,” he says. He’s not Adrian anymore. Adrian was his mother’s son. Lisa Tepes’ beautiful golden child, her little sun prince. Now, he is… something else. Dracula’s shadow. Nothing more than another twisted, broken relic in his father’s castle. Something dark and already dead that Dracula left behind when he turned to ash. He thought, for a while, that maybe he could find a new way to live, find a new place to devote his heart. But it’s clear now, that the stake he drove through his father’s heart was meant for both of them.

Clenching his hands into fists until pain sparks, he continues, “I’m not _guilty_. Why would I be? _They_ attacked _me_. _They_ tricked _me_. They came into my father’s home, they tried to use me and I…”

_You let them in_ , Little Sypha says. _Can you really say it was a trick if you were so desperate for love that you threw open all your doors?_

“Shut up,” he hisses. “What would you know? You left me here.”

A deeper voice pipes up. Little Trevor is a twisted mess on the floor, but one button eye peaks out from the heap of cloth. _We left you here so you could protect secrets. Not give them away to the first people who acted like they would fuck you_.

Fucking. Was that what it was? Before, he thought it was something else. Something softer, something kinder. And then he’d felt the sting of blessed silver and he hadn’t wanted to believe, barely even put up a fight.

Alucard swallows. The longer this conversation goes, the louder his anger gets. The more his throat aches, like an animal has clawed it open. Or a sword, carefully precise, so sharp that at first you barely feel it. A flying sword, like the one that split _Their_ throats.

He needs blood. He wants his coffin, back under Gresit, closing his eyes forever and never waking back up. It would all be so much easier if he could just go back, remain there in the darkness. Maybe, it all would’ve been better to just not wake up in the first place, let his father wage his war. To let him kill the humans like he wanted.

“I never asked for your secrets,” he says to Little Trevor. “You should’ve kept them to yourself, you lazy bastard.”

Little Trevor scoffs. _You hear that, Sypha? He calls us lazy when all he did was lay there and get fucked._

Alucard’s stomach squeezes hard. “I didn’t—I hadn’t—” He cuts himself off. Little Trevor starts laughing anyways.

_How sweet_ , he coos, _a virgin. The mighty dhampir just a scared little lamb!_

“Stop,” Alucard whispers.

_Well at least they made you cum before you slit their throats. Or maybe… you liked that too. Tell me, did you get off on it? Do you bloodsuckers enjoy killing your prey like that?_

Little Sypha gives a gasp and then titters. _Oh Trevor, that’s disgusting_!

“ _Stop_ —”

_It’s a serious question,_ Little Trevor continues, _he had us fooled, but I think Alucard here is a lot more like daddy then he lets on. Why else would he let them get him in bed—_

“Stop it!” He roars. “Just stop!” His face feels hot, his eyes burning. His nails slice into his palms, thick drops of blood hitting the floor. Both of the dolls stop talking, their shiny button eyes watching his every move. He can feel their gazes like weights on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

He wants to run. Has to fight every instinct to flee the room, to crawl back under his bed and stay there until the entire world just gives up and dies off like it should’ve.

_Oh, Alucard_ , Little Sypha finally says, almost amused, _look at you_ …

_Finally becoming the monster daddy wanted you to be, eh?_ Little Trevor adds.

“What could you possibly understand?” Alucard hisses. A speaker who has abandoned her people. A man running from his family responsibility. How could they ever know what goes on in his head? The pain there?

Little Trevor seems to shrug. _I’m trained to kill monsters. I know one when I see one_.

( _I’m not a monster, I’m not, I’m NOT_ —)

Why is he still here? Why is he debating these little people that don’t even exist? Letting them insult him, letting them antagonize him?

He peels his lips back, snarls, “You’re both just dolls. I’ll rip your fucking legs off.”

_Go ahead_ , Little Trevor says. _Maybe it will make you feel better. Or maybe you’ll just end up crying again. Poor, little Alucard, always crying, crying, crying. Crying over mummy. Crying over daddy who hated your guts. Crying over Sumi and crying over Taka, who only thought you were good for your information and your fucking_. The yarn mouth smirks. _Well. Your information, at least._

His pulse thuds in his ears, his head feeling like it’s expanding, like everything around the room is spinning and growing all at once. He can feel his teeth elongating with rage. The table splinters under his hands, wood chips digging into his skin and making the cuts open further. “I’ll kill you,” he hisses.

( _you’re talking to a doll. You’re insane, losing your mind, just like your father_ )

_Who will you talk to once I’m dead?_ Little Trevor says. _The pictures on the walls?_

Little Trevor laughs, and Little Sypha joins him, all but howling as Alucard slams upwards from the table so hard that his chair flies back and hits the wall. They continue as red haloes him and he teleports across the room, snatching up Little Sypha’s body, her straw head bulging with his tight grip.

“Shut up, shut up _, shut up_!” he cries. “Do you want to die? Do you want me to kill you?”

Little Sypha’s eyes glint as she continues to giggle. _What are you going to do?_ she asks, voice filled with mirth. _Stake us?_

He doesn’t stake them. His stomach gets hot and tight at the very mention, and every nerve ending in his hands goes ice cold. He feels, for a terrible moment like he will faint.

Instead, he teleports again and snags Little Trevor, and then shoves them both into the cold hearth. For a long moment, he stands there, hands trembling as he grips a match, trying and failing to light it. Eventually, he realizes that he really is crying, all but sobbing as he contemplates destroying the figures of the only two people who really know he exists in the world.

He drops the matches and runs from the kitchen, barely making it into his childhood rooms before he’s falling to his knees, dry heaving over the stained carpet where his father died.

Little Trevor was right ( _crying again, Alucard?_ ).

What will Trevor and Sypha think? Not the dolls. Not those stupid little made-up figments of his imagination that he leaves in the kitchen because he’s so lonely, sick, fucked up, that he can’t bare the idea of parting with them.

Trevor and Sypha. The real ones. Off, traveling the world. Helping people. People like the two bodies he’s staked outside his doors.

What will they think?

If they are anything like the voices in his head… they will hate him as much as he hates himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Post season 3 reaction like:  
> Me: how could they do this to my poor baby Alucard? How could they abuse him so?  
> Me to me: okay, but make it worse


End file.
